


Day 13: Captured

by Aichi



Series: Kinktober 2020 [13]
Category: Cardfight!! Vanguard
Genre: Collars, Gen, Kidnapping, M/M, Restraints
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-23
Updated: 2020-10-23
Packaged: 2021-03-08 19:40:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,602
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27161947
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aichi/pseuds/Aichi
Summary: The Shiranui clan has many enemies. Luard runs into trouble with some of them.
Relationships: Luard/Stealth Dragon Shiranui
Series: Kinktober 2020 [13]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1951588
Comments: 6
Kudos: 7





	Day 13: Captured

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, sorry, this is once again Not A Kink Fic, like, At All. I don't know if this is a relatable feeling to anyone but, uh, did anyone else as a kid, before you learned about "kinks" and "sex" and stuff, used to get REALLY WEIRDLY UNCOMFORTABLY EMBARRASSED AND/OR FASCINATED seeing characters get captured, tied up, etc in books and on tv? Because Boy,, Let Me Tell You,,,, anyway I thought it would be a fun change of pace to write a kind of fun little non-kinky but still privately funny-feeling self-indulgent story. So, here is (the first half of) something like that.
> 
> It's kind of like a PWP except both of the Ps stand for "plot". The rest will hopefully come tomorrow but I am falling more horrifically behind all the time aaaAAAA
> 
> Sidenote, the OCs here aren't based on any particular units, so you are pretty much free to imagine them however you want.

"Don’t move.”

The voice is a low hiss near Luard’s ear, the dangerous edge in its tone complemented by the sharp prick of a blade against his ribs.

Luard, of course, responds by slamming a heel down as hard as he can onto his assailant’s foot, robes snagging and tearing on the unfamiliar dragon’s claws as he darts free. The enemy roars in pain, blade falling to the ground as she doubles over, and Luard is on her in an instant, moving without thinking, frenzied instinct surging through his veins. A spark races down his arm, scales exploding from skin in its wake, and then it’s his turn to curl his newly-formed claws around the stunned dragon’s throat.

Dark scales, light armor designed for ease of movement, a katana; she could have passed for one of Shiranui’s clan, except that Luard doesn’t recognise her at all.

“Who the hell,” he growls, flatly and yet loaded with malice, “are you?”

The dragon doesn’t answer, and Luard notices too late the small gesture she makes with her claws, and the second set of footsteps behind him.

Before he can turn, Luard is abruptly plunged into darkness. Choking against the musty smell of whatever sack they’ve pulled over his head, he reels, thrashes, rakes his claws over whatever he can reach. A howl and a sudden damp splatter of blood tell him he hit his mark, but then another weight slams into him from behind, and he goes down in an angry tangle of limbs along with his newest assailant.

“Quickly!” The first dragon’s voice says, muffled by the bag over his head. “Restrain him, you idiots!”

Another body crashes down on his back, driving the wind from him. Gasping at stale air, Luard claws blindly, dizzily at the ground in front of him, adrenaline and mana alike coursing down his spine as dark spikes of scale begin to slice through his robes. His tail bursts free like a whip uncurling, and he lashes wildly at the two — _more?_ — dragons on top of him, crushing the air out of his lungs.

Wings are just starting to unfurl from his back when a hefty metal weight clamps around his throat, and all at once, it’s like his entire body is made of lead.

Luard slumps, wings falling flat and useless, spread out in the dirt like a downed bird. Claws rake dry furrows in the earth as he scrabbles for more mana, forces it into his body, only for it to have seemingly nowhere to go. Magic is still alight in his veins, but it’s as if it’s been frozen in place, sliding sluggishly under his skin like thick ice on a cold river, pulling him down with its weight. It takes every ounce of strength just to lift his still-covered head, to focus his eyes enough to make out the vague shadow of someone moving in front of him.

“Looks like it’s working,” a male voice says.

Someone else roughly pulls his arms behind his back, and Luard struggles with all the strength of a newborn kitten. Exhaustion falls over him like a heavy blanket, trapping him in place beneath the suddenly burnt-out coals of his adrenaline.

“You, carry him,” the female voice orders, and the others scurry to comply. “We move out immediately, before anyone notices he’s missing.”

Luard tries to speak, to spit out some kind of threat, tell them they won’t get away with this, whatever _this_ is, but trying to arrange the words just makes his skull feel even heavier, and as his head slumps back to the ground, his thoughts slip into the same all-consuming darkness as his vision.

“Shiranui is going to kill you all, you know.”

Luard’s captors clearly don’t care for his words any more than the last six times he repeated them; one of them laughs, but the rest ignore him entirely, their attention focused on tearing into their rations after a long hard day of kidnapping dragwizards.

Or just one dragwizard, singular, because as far as Luard can tell, this is about _him_ , specifically. There are no other prisoners in the dank little cave that the dragons seem to be using as their base of operations — in fact, there’s very little of anything at all, just some blankets, sacks, a burned out fire nestled amongst the stalagmites, and of course, an uncomfortably small cage that doesn’t even afford Luard enough room to lie down properly. He lies on his side, knees cramped stiffly against his chest, wings trapped beneath the arms bound awkwardly behind his back. At least they had the decency to remove the bag from his head, allowing him a luxurious sideways view of their dingy cave through the metal bars as they continue to ignore him.

The collar is still sitting like a rock around his neck, the weight of it leaving sitting or standing out of the question. It’s clearly some kind of mana-interrupting device, but the design is new to him, and he aches to get a look at it — or rather, a little less… intimate of a look, thank you — because he’s never before seen something that doesn’t simply _stop_ mana flow, but _freezes_ it. It hasn’t _disabled_ his dragshift, instead holding the mana in stasis somehow, leaving him not only unable to fully transform, but equally unable to revert to his normal self.

It’s almost genius, really. The sensation is so alien and tiring, like his veins themselves are holding him down, that despite his half-dragon state, he can’t even muster the strength to snap the frayed, scratchy ropes around his wrists and ankles.

“You must be wondering why you’re here.”

Luard grunts. He’s not going to admit he’d been so busy thinking about the mechanics of it all that he hadn’t noticed the female dragon approach his cage.

“You’re the ringleader, huh?" he manages. "Come to gloat?”

“I’ve come to explain how this is going to work,” she says, curtly, folding her arms over her chest. Torchlight glints off her curved, ram-like horns, glimmering in the dark pits of her eyes.

“I already told you how it works,” Luard replies, struggling to hide the tiredness in his voice. “Shiranui is going to track you down and kill every single one of you. And as soon as he gets this contraption off me, I’m going to help.”

The dragon seems decidedly unconcerned by the prospect of her imminent beheading. “Your precious Shiranui… he isn’t exactly the great warrior he once was, is he? Missing limbs, abdicated leadership of his clan, _settling down and getting married_ … he may be young, but it seems to me he’s well past his prime already, wouldn’t you say?” She smiles, baring sickly yellowed fangs. “If only there were someone who could step in and fill those once-mighty shoes.”

Luard’s only response is a low growl as he internally grapples for the energy to give her the chewing out she deserves for talking about Shiranui at all, let alone _like that_. If he’d been in the position to, he would have spat on her.

“We,” she continues unperturbed, gesturing around the cave at her companions, “are what you might call _outcasts_. Clanless. Nubatama’s forgotten. But now, we have an opportunity to change that. The Shiranui clan’s leadership is tenuous, weak, its people still looking to their old, beloved ruler for guidance — the whole thing is ripe for takeover." She waves a claw vaguely, dismissively. "I’m sure you understand where I’m going with this. The word is that you’re extremely intelligent.”

“I don’t need praise from the likes of you,” Luard hisses. He lifts his head, the tip of his tail flicking weakly as the effort sends a strenuous shiver down his body. There's no doubt in his mind that Shiranui is out there _right now_ , flanked by the most skilled trackers and ninjas in the clan, looking for him, and there's no doubt that this woman will have left _signs_ , no matter how clearly full of herself she is; a clawprint in the dirt, a broken twig, a disturbed pebble. Even with his injuries, there's a reason Shiranui still commands so much respect from his — _their_ — clan; his skills are near unmatched, both on the battlefield and as a commander, and his kindness and understanding foster a powerful unity between his kin. It's that unity that allowed Luard to find a home with him and his people, despite everything that happened between them, despite everything he's done, the role he's played in tearing them apart. Feeling that he _deserves_ it is still beyond him, but he respects Shiranui far too much to do him the dishonor of not believing in it.

This woman, Luard thinks, is _crazy_ if she expects a clan built on such unity to just bow down to someone like her. They're a _family_ , and they don't just follow anyone, don't just abandon their—

The collar's oppressive weight sinks into his bones as the realization dawns on him. "I'm a bargaining chip," he says, dully.

“So, I thought,” she goes on, ignoring both his words and the increasingly hard furrow of his brow, “what might… _entice_ the former Lord Shiranui and his clan to surrender to a ragtag group like us? As you can see, we have little chance of a takeover by force. But with the right leverage?”

A cold, hard lump begins to form in Luard’s stomach as she stalks around his cage, fixes him with a sharp, predatory glare.

“How much do you think the great Shiranui will give up to ensure the safety of his beloved husband?”

**Author's Note:**

> TO BE CONTINUEDDDDDD hopefully tomorrow. I have plenty of time tomorrow. Don't let me be lazy. Will Luard's husband swoop in to save the day??!!? Find Out Next Time
> 
> Actually I included this prompt originally for Shiranui and Luard to do fun sexy kidnapping roleplay together which probably would have had a much more broad appeal than whatever this is.
> 
> "Stop writing gen fic for kinktober if you're so uncertain about it." No <3
> 
> Twitter: @cosmowreath


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